Into Greying Mist
by Miranda C
Summary: She never had any regrets for making the decision I had made all those years ago. Leaving the Golden Four. She did everything she could. After all, there are times in your life where your entire perception alters completely... some DM/OC and some gore
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue **

There are times in your life that you never can come clean out of. Times that are not forgotten. That changes the world and mostly your perception of it. Time that never can be reversed.

A copy of the Daily Prophet lay before me, as Lucinda Malfoy idly stirred her tea. The cover page was filled with a enlarged close-up picture of Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, flipping between the two. It took the entire cover of the paper and their heads were enlarged to almost twice their actual size. Below, the title read: 'Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley celebrates 15th anniversary of the Second Wizarding War'. A caption read: 'Our heroes shall appear in a parade through Diagon Alley today.' A statement clearly meant to be interpreted as 'All fans prepare for autographs and photographs!'

These parades have been happening annually for years now. Laughter and festivities celebrating the downfall of Voldemort. A small sentiment was made to those who gave their lives for the cause. But so much more people had died than just the amount who fought for the light. That barely mattered in these parades, it was a glorification of war. I quickly flipped through the Prophet. Nothing. It seemed that today's edition was dedicated to the commemoration of the war.

Lucinda's head could have been on that front page.

But, she never had any regrets for making the decision I had made all those years ago. Even when given a time turner, she wouldn't change a thing about how events unfolded. Not a thing.

Tick Tock. Tick tock. The grandfather clock in the corner ticked away just like any ordinary day. Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock. Overlarge windows rattled with wind and rain. The sound of thunder mingled with

the ever continuing ticking of the clock. Tick tock. Tick tock. Curtains were not drawn as it was only afternoon but the room was already cast in a shroud of darkness. An eagle hammered onto a plague

flapped its wings above the unlit grate. Thick overly ornate tapestry adorned the walls in shades of blue and green. Silver thread marked them with designs of hawklike eyes and patterns as if shiny with

silver blood in the dimness. On one wall, a painting dominated it, whose occupants murmured furtively to each other with barely the rustling of their robes can be heard, sneaking glances once or twice

from behind their powdered wigs at a copy of the Daily Prophet lying closed on a large, oak table beneath their frame. This copy of the Prophet had no creases or any sign that it had been touched at all.

The headline flashed: darkest wizard of all time, he who must not be named sighted. Below read disappearance of Thomas Craven, only son of Amaryllis Craven head of magical law enforcement.

Thunder cackled outside. Lucinda Craven sat bolt upright in her chair whipping her wand from her pocket. Wind whistles through the Manor. A door slammed shut somewhere in the depth of the house. Somewhere else the windows rattled loudly and the flap of heavy curtains could be heard over the howling wind. Her heart thudding in her chest, she stood up. This action, however did little to help in casting an imposing figure. She was only petite, average height with wavy blond hair streaked with a sprinkling of dark brown. Her features however was reasonably striking, very much like her mother, a straight nose that was just proportionate to her pale heart shaped face without a hint of freckles and distinct grey eyes with a tinge of green. However, these usually piercing eyes was lessened by a series of

creases only brought about by constant hint of a worried frown. Dark bags hung below her eyes. The piercing look in her eyes had a dull edge. She raised her wand, taking a tentative step forwards. The occupants in the portrait, murmured gesturing frantically. Footsteps on the hard wooden floor sounded outside the door.

Lucinda raised her wand, stupefy on the tip of her tongue. Her heart thudded with a steady beat, growing quicker with each thud. Hurried footsteps grew louder and louder. The door knob turned. Until, with a loud squeak of protest from the door's hinges, tumbling into the room was a houself. He stumbled, falling onto his nose onto the dark floor at her feet. Beyond the open door, there was darkness, save for the occasional candle floating eerily along the wall. Elongated shadows loomed across the hallway. Lucinda gazed into the dark, raising her wand slightly higher. The air in the manor pressed against her ear drums. Thunder crashed outside. Then nothing.

"Miss! Miss! Bad Knobbly! Bad Knobbly!" cried the elf as he began to hit his head repeatedly on the floor. A heavy thud each time his head made contact with the thick wooden floor. Slowly, Lucinda lowered her wand placing it in her pocket.

"Stop that!" she ordered sharply. Grabbing a sticky bundle of flour sack the elf wore, she lifted the elf up from the ground, "Knobbly, what happened?"

"Bad knobbly, stupid knobbly, naughty knobbly left window open!"

Snorting, Lucinda let the elf unceremoniously drop the floor and ordered him to go. Her heart beat against her ribs, she stood clenching and unclenching her hands. Taking out her wand, lethargy seeping into at every vein, she resumed her vigil by the unlit grate. Slowly she sat down, the chair soft and the upholstery warm, but she did not dare sink fully into it.

Slowly everything settled into the pattern of before. The room was cast in grey grew darker and darker lit up in brief moments by lightening. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Soft furtive murmurs came from the portrait. Windows continued to rattle from the howling wind. Lucinda did not move, not even to light a lamp with her wand. The headlines of the Daily Prophet gleamed, flashing the headlines over and over again. You- know - who is back. Thomas Craven was missing. Her brother was missing.

A picture of him was placed with the article. A devilishly handsome face, flashing a grin out the photograph. He was in Gryffindor robes with his reddish brown hair neatly ruffled. It was taken in his fourth year, Lucinda's fifth. There was no news about his whereabouts. Their mother, Amaryllis Craven had pulled every string she could, and that was a number that most could not dream of, but there was no news of her only son.

Something wet trickled down her cheek. Lucinda's throat suddenly felt dry. She wanted to scream to wail, but she was too tired. Too tired. Tears began to stream down her cheeks. 'Thomas, where are you?' she managed to choke out before sobs racked her body.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 1**

Thunder sounded outside the window and the rain poured down in buckets as it relentlessly assaulted the Burrow. While previously in the evening the sky simply pressed down ominously onto the land, now it chose to release everything that it had chosen to lock up within those thick clouds and send it in all fury down on earth. The soil churned as water poured down on it, making roads impassable except for by the hardiest of people and wizards, of course. Meanwhile, in the Burrow, everything was bathed in a warm light which kept even the anger of the heavens away. A fire burnt in the stove in the kitchen where everyone was seated, many of the most important members of the Order of the Phoenix that is to say. Pots and pans danced themselves across the stove and the constant sound of a wooden spoon as it magically beat in a bowl of something. But except for the day to day noise of the Burrow kitchen and the cackling of the thunder and rain. Everyone was silent. Molly Weasley looked wistfully at a boiling pot on the stove, waving her wand to add various cooking ingredients into the stewing soup. Sneaking glances at the silent figure of Albus Dumbledore as his tall figure graced the head of her kitchen table, she added several carrots, unaware that one of them was still unpeeled. Lupin was staring at the face of Thomas Craven on the page of the Daily Prophet with both eyebrows creased in a frown, an expression that was mirrored almost identically across the members in the room. Kinsley Shacklebolt stood by the window, his tall and broad frame nearly obscuring the darkness and rain outside. He looked at Albus expectantly. Mad – Eye Moody's magical eyes was turned in a penetrating stare at Albus Dumbledore while still swiveling from left to right. His good eye was narrowed suspiciously.

The man, Dumbledore, himself however sat in the chair gracefully his blue eyes twinkling behind his half-moon glasses. Albus Dumbledore sat in the chair at the head of the table, making himself visible to everyone seated in the room. He inspected his hand, the one that had been blackened and wizened. The skin was pulled tight against the bone and he could see every vein, sinew and bone as he looked. Slowly, he folded his hands on the table.

Suddenly, thunder cackled followed by the sound of a knock on the door. Everyone took in a sharp intake of breath, turning to the door. Molly nearly immediately put down the pan she was carrying, hurrying to the door with a breathless mutter of that's her. Arthur Weasley followed close behind his wife with his fingers wrapped around his wand. He stood next to the coat rack right behind a shelf of boots and almost concealed by a gigantic black cloak. Subconsciously, he stooped slightly so that his vibrant red hair did not stand out harsh in the darkness. Muscles around his neck tensed as he waited for Molly to open the door. A sharp intake of breath and a flurry of confused murmurs rang out from the staircase. Arthur spun around to the sight of half of his family and Hermione, staring guiltily but worriedly at him as they clumped together on the landing to the second floor. He blinked and shook his head, turning back to the door. Molly gripped the hand handle tightly. Arthur could hear the soft reciting of the code privy to only the members of the Order in a cool, expressionless voice. At that moment it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, but he never really liked the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Arthur grip around his wand tightened as he watched Amaryllis step into the room. Molly looked over the other woman, silently taking in her drenched but obviously expensive cloak and drenched blond hair.

"Evening, Molly. What a nightmare it is out there." Amaryllis quietly greeted Molly, taking off her cloak and drying it with a lazy swish of her wand. She smiled sadly at her own choice of words. Molly smiled back politely.

"Come on, everyone's already waiting." she said, giving the other woman a gentle pat on her arm. Molly studied the blond as they carefully tread across the hallway into the kitchen. Dark circles stood out against her pale skin and encased her eyes and her entire face seemed to droop despite her expressionless mask. Her eyes, however, was unchanged. Cold, emotionless and most disturbing of all to Molly's opinion, they were calculating just like always. Arthur followed behind them, gesturing for the Twins, Ron, Ginny and Hermione to leave.

Dumbledore spoke after a pause as Amaryllis, Molly and Arthur entered the room. Ignoring the pointed stares or the sideway glances directed at her, Amaryllis tried to focus on the task at hand. She caught Dumbledore's eye and gave him a slight nod which was returned with a small twitch of his beard.

"Thomas Craven's abduction has taken a toll on everyone, I am sure but it is very important that we still remain close and trust each other. Trust is vital in dark times such as now. Currently, we have had no intelligence of his whereabouts, but once we have I am sure that immediate action will be taken by everyone." Here he stopped.

"But what about Lucinda? We don't want her to come in harm's way to end up like her brother," asked Shacklebolt. His deep booming voice sounded from the window where he was silently observing everyone in the room. There was a murmur of assent from everyone.

"I'm sure we can take her in. She can stay at the Burrow until school starts," interjected Molly, she fidgeted as all eyes turned on her and her declaration. Amaryllis cocked her head to one side, looking at Molly thoughtful.

"Thank you, Molly, that is most kind, I am sure that she would be under the best of protection at the Burrow." Dumbledore agreed, brightly.

The rest of the meeting did not make any impression on Amaryllis. She remembered nothing about it with any detail. She gave a report on intelligence she had gained from Ministry channels and the close goings in the higher ups of the Ministry. She briefed the Order on the list of known Death Eaters within the Ministry and their actions which she had come across through her careful tab keeping. As the meeting adjourned and all the children were let in to have dinner, she approached Dumbledore.

"Evening Dumbledore, thank you for giving those brief sentences at the start, it was most nice of you." She paused. "Everything is proceeding well as expected."

Dumbledore nodded slowly, "That is good, if you have anything else, you know how to contact me. "

"Yes, thank you, Professor."

"For Merlin's sake, I need you to listen to me, Lucinda."

Her mother's such casual use of the words 'for Merlin's sake' ran loud and out of place in Craven Manor. The wizards in the largest painting in the room almost instantly ceased their furtive murmurings to stare blankly at the events unfolding below them within the room. They all leant forwards across the table where they were painted covered with scrolls, pushing and pressing up against one another to be closer to the action. An ink bottle in the painting was knocked over in the process and ink slowly spread across the various scrolls, but no one paid it any heed.

Amaryllis Craven fixed her daughter with a hard look across her large mahogany desk. Her grey eyes betrayed nothing, they were sharp and expressionless as usual despite the dark circles under them which stood out far too clearly on her porcelain skin. Witches never left any blemishes that cannot be concealed by a glamour, especially not someone who was the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and a pureblood no less. Her hands clutched the arms of her chair, perfectly manicured nails scraping against the cushioned areas.

"I'm not going anywhere." was the never changing reply.

Abruptly, Amaryllis stood up, the chair scraped loudly against the wooden floor. She turned her back on her daughter staring out into the desolate moor from the large window of her study. Stoatshead Hill stood out in the distance standing abnormally tall and cutting an eyesore over the flat lands of the moor. The sky darkened ominously. Dampness settled like a cloak over her skin, cold and positively slimy. But she could still feel a trickle of sweat sliding down the bad of her neck. Amaryllis tugged at the sleeve concealing her left forearm. Slowly, she focused on the reflection of her daughter on the glass. Lucinda sat very straight backed in a hard wooden chair which she had chosen to occupy rather than the comfortable cushioned ones directly in front of her mother's desk. She even needed to drag it over from some corner of the study in order to occupy it. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap. Amaryllis could also see the shape of Lucinda's wand as it sat in front pocket her modest beige pants.

Abruptly, Lucinda pushed herself of her chair as well. Pulling out her wand and twirling it in her hands, she began to pace. Back and forth. Back and forth across the length of the room from the fireplace on the left and the shelf on the right. The occupants of the painting which hung over the very shelf on the right stared riveted, leaning even closer.

"Mum, I can't say this enough. I am not going anywhere!" she said through gritted teeth, annunciating every single syllable with vigour. "I am not going anywhere!"

Amaryllis stared at her daughter's reflection, silently watching her agitated form moving from left to right. Unconsciously, one hand clutched at her left sleeve, scrunching the soft fabric into a tight ball in her fist.

"For Merlin's sake! Why can't you even look at me!" Lucinda shouted at her mother's back. She stopped pacing and looked beseechingly at the dark silhouette. Her chest heaved and her heart quickened as rage poured into her veins. She couldn't stop. "Is the only thing that got out of your damn Order meetings is to get me to stay with the Weasleys? They're not going to do something about Tom? You expect me to stay at the Burrow and wait until his dead body turns up somewhere in Knockturn Alley? While I live protected?"

Lucinda looked at her mother who did not turn around or say anything. Her heart had stopped racing and she stood there dumbfounded. She took a staggering step backwards. There was silence. Suddenly the damp air clamped onto her skin and her body, thick and stifling.

Slowly, her mother turned towards her with a soft swish of emerald robes. Amaryllis looked at her daughter with another dispassionate glance. She sighed, a soft barely discernable sound. For a brief moment she caught eye contact with Lucinda who stared back at her haplessly. She had grey eyes too, light grey eyes but if Amaryllis looked closely they were flecked with green. Green from her father's eyes which had once stared blankly at her from a coffin. Her jaw tensed as she bit down on her thin cheek. She considered how to begin. There was no way her daughter would concede to hiding while her brother was missing, held captive by the Death Eaters. She had to convince Lucinda that the best way possible to fight in the cause was to keep herself safe. And Amaryllis reminded herself, as stone hearted she may seem, even she could not bear the pain of seeing those green flecked eyes stare unseeingly up at her forever lost to the world. She gestured at the soft cushioned chairs in front of her desk.

"Sit down, Lucinda." her voice was gentle as Amaryllis wearily sat herself down on one of the seats. The dark red velvet cushion felt foreign under her fingertips. But it was soft and inviting. She sank slowly into it. Lucinda shifted her weight from one foot to the left before lowering herself into the chair opposite to her mother. She continued to twirl her wand in her hands unable to shake off her nervous energy.

"You need to rest, Lucinda."

"I don't, I want to know what is being done about this?"

"Lucinda, I think you are being unreasonable. I am just as worried about your brother as you are and you know that I have tried many things but there is simply nothing we can do about Thomas at this moment. If you expect the Order to launch as full scale rescue mission, that is simply impossible unless you want more people to die needlessly. Everyone is going to do their best. So the best course of action for you is to stay out of harm's way. I don't think you can fight if the Death Eaters lay their hands on you."

Lucinda did not reply. She bit her lip. There was nothing she could do, her mother is right as usual. While Tom's exact whereabouts are not known, it is impossible for anyone to rescue him. She was sure that the Order did not want her brother in You-know-who's hands any more than she does. They would be concerned about Thomas being used as leverage to gain her mother's allegiance. But looking at her mother, those expressionless eyes and that cold and beautiful face, Lucinda shifted uncomfortably under that gaze.

"Well, since you do not object, I will alert Molly that you would be their house guest until the school term begins." Amaryllis finished quietly, but in a decidedly higher voice than that of before. Triumph.


End file.
